


A strange world

by Meghanthemoose



Category: DC - Fandom, Deadpool (2016), Marvel, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: AU- Teenage angst, Adultery, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Andrew Garfield- Peter Parker, Bullying, Dancing, Depression, Eating Disorders, Gymnastics, Homophobia, M/M, Minor Drug Use, Minor Relationships, Minor Violence, Non-injured Wade, Peter Parker is a nerd, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Ryan Reynolds- Wade Wilson, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Harm, Sexual Experimentation, Sneaking Around, Super family but without actual powers, Teachers an shit, Withdrawal from parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 23:19:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7127531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meghanthemoose/pseuds/Meghanthemoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my AU Marvel (with some DC characters thrown in) series but really my excuse to write about Wade as a teacher and Peter his student, and of course an excuse to write about Tony and Steve being dads, but struggling with their own battles. </p><p>Also sorry for some characters being a bit of dicks! I needed some bullies who are rly just misunderstood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A strange world

Peter fell in love with gymnastics when he was nine years old. He did not fall in love with the fact of girls in tight suits, or the aspect of budding breast bouncing around for an hour and half every weekday, but the art behind the sport. Peter found himself falling in love with the way that man and women alike moved like they were made of air, moving with such grace even with the complexity of their movements. Peter asked for his dads permission the second he was in the car, and of course they said yes. His parents pushed sports and school programs on him like any parents would, but instead of limiting his options to think labeled as masculine, his parents offered him everything. Dancing, karate, football, kick-boxing, softball, basketball, you name it, Peter had a pamphlet for it. 

Peter had done gymnastics for seven years, and never grew tired of it. He had won medals, and trophies for basically every competition, that his dad, Steve, insisted on displaying everywhere. He entered into his dance class four years after he began gymnastics, using it at the time for help on his floor routine, but he feel in love with dance too. 

Through out middle school, kids didn't really have the brain capacity to come up with creative insults for Peter, but of course they still managed to damage Peter's young boy sense of steam. The kids made fun of everything, they made fun of his tight leotard for gymnastics, made fun of his shoes for dance, made fun of his dads; that was a prime source for insult despite it being incredibly obvious his dads were awesome. Peter's dads were the one set of parents that brought in cookies for their sons birthday, and had awesome jobs that made you proud to bring them in on Parent's day. His one dad, Tony, was a millionaire and a genius, and his other dad, Steve had served in the army for eighteen years, achieving a Lieutenant General status. Steve mostly worked at home, being a house husband so to say, he struggled with PTSD, and was deemed to unstable for work. Peter didn't mind of course, Steve was a lot more emotionally open then Tony, and sometimes Peter would need that after a long day. 

Unfortunately as Peter found himself growing up, and his self-esteem shrinking, he quit all his activities regarding the sports he loved. Peter just found himself caring more about what people said, he started to realize how much people's opinion meant to him, and him doing gymnastics and dance just added more fuel to a raging fire. 

~~ 

Peter's alarm clock rang at six everyday on the dot, even during the summer. Maybe it was to just keep him used to a sleeping pattern, or because the earlier he could push himself up, the earlier he could fall asleep at night. Peter didn't enjoy being awake all to much. Peter opened his eyes, using his foot to allow sunlight in his room from behind the sheet held over his window. Peter also did not enjoy sunlight. He strangely did not enjoy a lot of things lately. 

Peter swung his feet from underneath his blanket, planting them on the ground below him. Since the day he dropped all his physical activity, Peter had slowly began to lose all his muscle mass, leaving what once was a toned, fit body, into a scrawny mess. His elbows poked out awkwardly, his fingers showed from the tight skin pulled around his hand, and his hip bones were deep enough to drink from. Peter did enjoy how his high cheek bones now kept his wide-brimmed glasses from falling off his face though. But of course one side-effect of being skinny was he was always cold, even in California, on an 80 degree day, Peter wore a long sleeve shirt, and a sweatshirt, at least. 

"Peter! Breakfast is ready!" Steve called, from the bottom of the stairs. Steve's basic breakfast included toast, an omelet, bacon, a cup of fruit and a glass of milk which all together would smell wonderful to a normal human being, but for a while the simple thought of food made Peter sick. A piece of toast, and an apple was the most he could stomach. 

Peter had a mirror in his room, that he bought for fifteen bucks from a Goodwill, it was distressed around the edges but it gave a clear enough image. He moved in all his things from the shared bathroom across the hall, his deodorant, hair gel from his dad that he barely used, a comb, all the basic stuff besides a toothbrush because he sadly did not have access to a sink in his room. He'd talked to his dads about having a bathroom put in but they seemed to find that as "to much isolation." Ridiculous claim, considering the fact Peter's life was school, work, room in that order. 

Tony hardly had any right to speak about how anti-social Peter was being, considering the fact he was home maybe two days out of the week, and usually at one in the morning only to leave at six-thirty. Steve never complained, never argued, Peter would say he didn't care but that was the farthest possibility. Steve cared to much. Peter remembered being angry all the time, always bothering Steve about why his other dad didn't want to spend time with him, Steve always assured him it was completely untrue, but there was always a small sense of unease in his voice. Peter just eventually figured that "family" wasn't Tony's thing. Tony had been a playboy before he settled down with Steve and Peter was dropped into his lap. 

"Peter, come on!" Steve hollered, "Don't make me come up there!" 

Yikes, now that was a threat Peter took to heart. Steve preferred to keep the entire house clean, but he did respect Peter's privacy on the one condition that Peter cleaned his room. To put it simply, Peter thought that was an option, not a requirement. 

"I'm coming," Peter said, he was pretty sure his dad couldn't hear him. 

Peter slipped into a dark brown, and tan stripped sweater with a pair of dark blue jeans, a pair of converse, and a dark olive, army-style jacket. His hair looked awful, sticking straight up, and curling towards the top but he refused morning showers, they made him drowsy and now considering his grades would be the only thing to move him forward in life, he needed to focus. 

He had his life all sorted out. Peter was going to go to the Olympics, he could of done it, he had enough talent, but what he made up for with physical strength, he lacked mental stability. Words got to him, and he let them crush his dreams. It was on him. 

Peter collect his notes and textbooks that laid sprawled out on the floor, throwing them into his backpack, along with a beanie just in case his hair disagreed with him later. He opened his door, kicking it with his foot to shut it. Outside his door he had those corny signs from the drug store, the ones that said "No parents allowed" in big white letters, or "Warning: Do not enter," he wasn't sure why he kept them around, but they seemed to being doing their jobs so why take them off. 

The smell of food hit him with a force, jerking bile up in his stomach. He squeezed between his dad and the island table in the middle of the kitchen, Steve turned his head to the side, reaching out a huge muscled hand to ruffle Peter's hair more than it already was. 

"That was cruel," Peter stated blandly, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips, one he wouldn't let Steve see. 

"I think I might have made it better," Steve said, Peter could hear that stupid grin in his voice. Peter pulled down his pill capsule from the cupboard, a bright purple box, labelled for each day of the week, that inside held the solutions to alllll his problems. Steve didn't like the fact that Peter had to take medicine, and Peter was to fond of it himself, but it was necessary. 

Paroxetine, 20 MG, once a day, for anxiety and depression. Trazodone, 50 MG, one tablet at night for insomnia. Xanax, 0.25 MG, two maximum daily. Also a natural multivitamin courtesy of Steve, along with a green health shake every morning, the shake looked like actual vomit. No wonder why Peter didn't want to eat normal foods anymore. Speaking of, Steve shove the green monstrosity in Peter's direction, drawing a loud groan from Peter. 

"Oh come on, you know the drill," Steve teased. 

"I'm not in gymnastics anymore, or anything for that matter, why do you keep this up?" Peter said quietly, flipping the cap off the reusable bottle. Peter regretted his words the second he said them. Steve's shoulders slumped forward, his smile fell from his face, it's like the light had been sucked out of the room. 

"Sorry kiddo," the man's voice sounded like he had aged ten years, "I just want to keep you in shape, just in case." 

Steve didn't have to finish his sentence, Peter knew. Steve had been thrilled when Peter chose dancing and gymnastics, he and Peter would talk for hours about Steve's own experience with dance because of his football career, and it was something they both truly bonded on. Steve made every practice, every competition, and whenever Peter looked into the crowd, nerves over taking him, Steve was right there. Smiling. 

Neither one of them seemed to smile much anymore. 

~~ 

After an awkward exit from his house, his dad giving him one of those depressing "I am pretending not to be hurt" smiles, Peter managed to leave the gross shake behind him and snatch an apple instead. He could stomach fruit, considering Steve went to the Farmer's Market almost everyday, and hand picked each fruit, to make sure they were acceptable. 

The thought of his six foot father, completely ripped, picking up and groping fruit always made Peter chuckle. 

Peter's high school was only ten minutes away from his house in Tony's sports car, but in the tin-can that he bought with his own money, it took him around twenty. With a simple please, Peter's pallet of cars of would've gone on forever, thanks to Tony's connections everywhere, but he refused when his dad offered to buy him a car. Peter saw your first car as something you had to work for, even if it was a piece of shit, but that was the teenage experience at its finest. Turns out he may of been wrong, because whenever he pulls into the parking lot of BMWs, Mercedes, and god knows what else, he is reminded that he definitely made a mistake. 

Peter drove into the parking lot in front of his school, taking his usual place in the front. Outside his window, two spaces away, leaning against a dark blue Nissan GT-R, was a group of Peter's quoted rivals. Also known as the kids who had to much of daddy's money, and insufferable egos. Leonard Snart was the leader of the gang, and every cliche you would expect from a typical high school douchebag. Leonard was captain of the football team, he was tall, fit but a little lanky, with light brown hair down to his ears, and bright blue eyes. Everyone loved him but he kept his distance, he didn't talk much, it was his goons who did most of the bullying, but Leonard chirped in every now and again. Peter nicknamed him Captain Cold, but he would never say that to the guys face. The next in Snart's gang was Max Eisenhardt, now he was a talker. Max had a thick German accent which made him more popular because he was "exotic," and light blonde hair, almost the color of snow, with the habit of acting like he was better than everyone. He was the center. 

"Peter," someone said, tapping a knuckle against the car window, "how long are you going to day dream?" 

Outside Peter's window stood Barry Allen, basically Peter's one single friend. Barry stood about two inches taller than Peter, thin but no where near comparable with Peter, and dark brown hair cut to show off his larger forehead. Peter rolled his eyes, opening up his door and stepping out, practically right on top of his friend. Barry didn't understand personal space all that well. 

"Why would I need to imagine when life is such a dream?" Peter mumbled, fitting his backpack over his shoulder. Barry smiled; smiles seemed so easy to him. 

It made Peter jealous.


End file.
